Process of Elimination
by deangirl22
Summary: (Set during mid-season two, spoiler friendly.) Keeping a guise of normalcy is important to Hannibal Lecter. Despite a horrific event, Eliza Braden thinks herself normal. Hannibal's compelling nature may very well break Eliza's composed denial.
1. Chapter 1

Her wavy chestnut hair fell loosely around her heart-shaped face. Her hazel eyes were betwixt with flecks of green. Hannibal couldn't help thinking what a lovely specimen Eliza Braden was, her womanly form begged to be tasted. 'Perhaps someday' Hannibal thought, a polite smile sprouting on his lips as he shrugged out of his jacket. Her velvety voice carried through the air, bidding him welcome, as she extended a hand. Her smile was genuine, but Hannibal could sense the confusion seeping through her pores as his palm embraced hers. "The pleasure is all mine Ms. Braden." Hannibal declared, raising her wrist to his lips. Her scent sizzled throughout Hannibal's being, although she wore no perfume. As Eliza gestured to the ottoman, Hannibal deduced she used a sensual body wash, likely jasmine. Sitting down opposite Eliza, he regarded her wardrobe. Her black skirt clung past her knees, her navy blouse was mostly hidden behind a silver-buttoned black business jacket.

Eliza's nimble fingers combed over the silver buttons of her jacket self-consciously, as she cast a quickened glance around her office. Every book was perfectly nestled on the shelf, the wooden floor had been freshly polished that very morning and the faint aroma of lemon could still be distinguished. Her eyes revolved onto Hannibal Lecter as he sat down. Her heart was fluxing with nervous energy as she studied him. His dark eyes were flat, yielding little emotion. Eliza had seen many such as his, a clear sign of PTSD. Yet something about Hannibal's cool demeanor gnawed at her. He was dressed as an esteemed gentleman should dress, although it was rare to encounter such a man these days. His silk-brown suit was tailor-made, his tie was tan paisley atop an orange background.

Aware that Hannibal was assessing her just as much as Eliza was him, she forced a smile and reclined in her leather chair."I must admit, I am surprised you sought my counsel Dr. Lecter. As I'm sure you know, my patients are typically female...also I've rarely advised someone has survived a near-death experience." Eliza began. Euphoria

"That has not always been the case. It was through word-of-mouth that you aided several soldiers fresh from the war, half of which were male. Surely a few of them faced death on the battlefield." Hannibal remarked. In truth, Eliza's professional accomplishments were minimal, though significant for someone in her early thirties. Hannibal being counseled was a necessary nuisance, but he had decided after the failure with his previous therapist, that he would chose his next one more carefully. It was Eliza's private history that had drawn Hannibal to her, and it was in his best interests to exploit the dark secret she held.

"Yes. But even you must admit, I am a curious choice for a counselor. I would not call myself unseasoned, but I do lack the same prestige as my peers..."

"You are used to be looking down upon. You personal merit is such that you worry I will judge your professional etiquette..."

"I worry that I may not be the best choice, Dr. Lecter. It would've been impersonal, to tell you over the phone." Eliza responded, sitting forward in an effort to get her point across.

"It would be equally improper for you to refuse me as a patient." Hannibal retorted evenly.

Running a finger along her chin in an effort to gracefully scratch an itch, Eliza was silent as she stared at Hannibal in thought."...What if I were to tell you that I don't think you need to see a PTSD specialist?" she asked.

"I would be curious as to what reasoning you used to reach such a conclusion." Hannibal answered.

"How much time has passed since your encounter?"

"Four days."

"And your would-be murderer, slit your wrists and had a noose around your neck...am I wrong?" Eliza pressed.

"No, you are correct." Hannibal prompted.

Eliza's gaze dropped from Hannibal's face onto his throat. "Someone who had nearly been hung, would have terrible anxiety about ties for some time." she stated, coaxing a smile out of Hannibal. "You appear perfectly as ease."

"Those that grovel on the past, are incapable of embracing the future as they should." Hannibal said simply. "I imagine you understand this better than anyone."

"Why do you say that?"

"The incident that befell you, that which propelled you to change your doctrine..."

A smile of dread had creased Eliza's lips. "Is that why you're here? You hoped to enter my establishment as a patient, and exit as my doctor?" she asked crudely.

Hannibal answered nonchalantly. "There was a note in your file about your refusal of therapy. You felt no one would understand. Few people have tasted blood that is not their own...fewer still have had human flesh clotted in their teeth."

"What happened, happened almost five years ago." Eliza snapped.

"You are nearing an anniversary date...and on the eve of your anniversary, your rapist will be set free. A cruel joke from the correctional system." Hannibal responded, amused by the leer that Eliza had fastened onto her face.

Eliza heaved a sigh as she stood from her chair, running an absentminded hand down her skirt to waylay any wrinkles. "Yes, I am well aware. I think it's time you leave Dr. Lecter." she announced.

Hannibal gazed up at her. "Of course. But first I'd like to ask if you would join me for dinner tomorrow evening." he replied.

"Are you joking?" Eliza blurted bitterly.

"Not at all." Hannibal said simply.

"I've no interest in your help, I need no help." Eliza stated coldly.

Hannibal rose from his seat. "You have taken into consideration Ike Ryan has put out a restraining order on you...?" he replied with an implication. "An unnecessary precaution given how much bodybuilding he pursued while behind bars." he added, slipping his hand into his pocket as he strolled towards the door.

"If Ike wants revenge on the harpy that tore out his throat, what possible aid could you provide me – FBI detail?" Eliza scoffed.

"Mm. You refer to yourself as a harpy." Hannibal mused, shrugging into his jacket. "An interesting analogy."

"You didn't answer my question." Eliza said flatly, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"If it is an answer you seek, come to dinner. As I understand it, you have shared meals with your patients before. Why should I be any different?" Hannibal responded coyly.

"When I dined with my patients, it was for their betterment." Eliza stubbornly replied.

"You are a very selfless woman, Ms. Braden. Devoted to your craft, just as I am. Where we differ, I take it upon myself to indulge as I see fit – when was the last time you did something for your own benefit?" Hannibal said smoothly.

Hannibal left then, as quietly and composed as when he had first laid eyes on Eliza.

Eliza who had been a jotted bundle of nerves when Hannibal arrived, was consumed by a raw sense of euphoria and intrigue.


	2. Chapter 2

Eliza's teal PT Cruiser eased across the threshold of Hannibal's estate. On the doorstep, stood Hannibal himself, dressed in a form-fitting black t-shirt and tan slacks, his hands clasped behind his back and a welcoming smile embroidered on his lips. As Eliza stepped out of her car, Hannibal noted with great interest that she had dressed considerably less modest. Her dark dress slacks hugged her delicate legs and protruding rear, the collar of her tan shirt bulged downward into a V. There was also a subtle necklace of overlapping amber coiled around her amble neck. The inclusion of jewelry, eliminated the make-up Eliza had worn when Hannibal first met her. Hannibal deduced that Eliza never wished to appear too beautiful, an understandable tactic for a rape victim.

As she drew near, the smile that sprang to Eliza's lips was well practiced, though she hoped Hannibal did not notice. Since their meeting, Eliza had been able to think of little else but the mysterious Hannibal. "Your estate is lovely Dr. Lecter." she greeted, extending a polite hand.

"Please Ms. Braden, if we are to dine together, I believe we should establish a first name basis, don't you?" Hannibal replied, his fingers enclosing Eliza's palm as he once again kissed the top of her wrist. A whiff of rose pedals basked his nostrils, confirming his notion that Eliza was attracted to him. Though Hannibal knew it was likely Eliza had not been properly intimate with another man since the incident occurred, he still felt a qualm of pride swell inside him.

"I suppose...Hannibal." Eliza agreed, with a grin that bordered on bashful.

"After you Eliza." Hannibal encouraged, gesturing for her to enter his home.

Hannibal's estate possessed an allure Eliza was hopeless to describe. The inside was just as gorgeous and immaculate as the exterior, soft colors meshed perfectly with darker hues. Hannibal guided Eliza to his kitchen, mentioning that the meal, spaghetti with garlic bread, was not quite finished. What Eliza found incredible, was the makings of the kitchen suggested Hannibal was a chef, yet he had prepared a meal with little to no preparation required. Eliza almost felt cheated, which was precisely how Hannibal wanted her to feel.

Rolling up his sleeves, Hannibal cupped his fingers around a wooden spoon to stir the noodles. Hannibal's sense of timing was impeccable as always, but he did not wish to hurry the evening. Upon closer observation, Hannibal had glimpsed a thick scar hidden beneath the collar of her v-neck tee. It jutted from her clavicle down toward her cleavage, a parting gift from her rapist Ike Ryan.

Eliza's gaze traveled from Hannibal's neckline, which still appeared raw from rope-burn, down to his stitched wrists. Although every person dealt with trauma in different ways, Eliza knew people who suffered PTSD took time to recuperate. Inviting a stranger to dinner was peculiar behavior, there was something off about Hannibal Lecter, that much Eliza was certain of.

Eliza's heavy stare, inspired a smile from Hannibal. "You seem displeased at my selection for tonight's meal. I hope you understand if I did not want to give the wrong impression." he stated.

Eliza rested her weight on the counter nearest the oven. "Of course, you needn't explain..."

Hannibal glanced at her, his smile upturning into a smirk. "On the contrary..." he argued. "Might I ask what theories you have devised as to the true nature of our interaction?"

"...None I wish to share." Eliza replied, her gaze shifting from his eyes to his wrist. "Is it bothersome, cooking while your wrists are healing?" she questioned.

"Passion is often sought for a lifetime. Those fortunate enough to find theirs, hold on dearly...it is a precious commodity of the soul. To let tender wrists negate my passion, would be a tire disservice, not only to myself but to you as well Eliza." Hannibal remarked, turning the knob of the stove.

The way her name rolled off his tongue, ignited a spark within Eliza, one she hoped would subdue the longer she was in Hannibal's presence. "Do you think they'll scar?" she asked, nodding at his wrists as he churned the pasta sauce.

Noticing the up-tilt of her voice, Hannibal replied. "It is a possibility. I am not sure I would mind if they did. Scars are relevant to a past better left unforgotten. Perhaps you feel differently." Without thinking, Eliza's fingertips perched on her scarred clavicle as Hannibal took a step toward her, closing the gap between them. "May I?" he gently inquired, his hand hovering in mid-air. Eliza didn't wish to be touched, yet she wrangled her chestnut hair behind her ear to allow him access. Hannibal carefully shifted the collar of her shirt aside, his thumb intentionally brushing against her skin as he studied her scar. By seeing the scar in such close proximity, Hannibal could envision the event in greater details than when he had read her file. How Eliza had struggled against the blade Ike Ryan had threatened her profusely with, how he had thrust himself inside Eliza who had grown paralyzed in fear. How that paralysis had ultimately thawed, when the evolutionary trigger of 'fight or flight' had activated. Eliza Braden had partook both.

As if reading Hannibal's mind, Eliza's hand snapped around Hannibal's wrist. Her nails nipped at his stitches but she didn't release, even as her hazel eyes becoming ensnared in his dark brown ones. "It is a wretched thing.." she mumbled.

"It is part of you." Hannibal said. Their prolonged contact greatly encouraged Hannibal, even as Eliza dejectedly removed her hand from his wrist. "If you fear it hinders your beauty, you need not. Your scar is a mark of valor.." he told her with the shadow of a smile.

"There was nothing honorable about what transpired Hannibal." Eliza spat.

"You prevented a man from murdering you. Is that not admirable?" Hannibal challenged, as he strained the water from the noodles. The steam ebbed upward past Hannibal's chin, emphasizing his hollowed cheekbones. Realizing she was staring at him once again, Eliza scowled and put distance between Hannibal and herself. Internally Hannibal chuckled. However, Hannibal contorted his features to look properly sober. "I apologize if my remark upset you. Dinner is almost complete, allow me to show you to the dinning room..."

Eliza dutifully followed, deciding she would wait awhile longer before demanding to know what Hannibal was up to. His dining table was vast consisting of dark, polished wood that literally gleamed. Hannibal withdrew a chair for her, and Eliza sat down with a small smile. As he departed, Hannibal gingerly touched her arm causing Eliza's heart to flutter.

Upon entering the kitchen, Hannibal wasted no time. Opening the refrigerator, Hannibal grasped the container of his specially crafted meatballs and set it on the counter. Plucking plates from the cabinet, he daintily unfurled the noodles, engulfed them in sauce and placed the garlic bread alongside. Finally he strategically planted the meatballs and grabbed fabric napkins from a drawer. When he returned to the dining room, Hannibal saw Eliza was nervously fiddling with her silverware.

"Do you prefer white or red wine?" Hannibal inquired as he presented the meal.

"Red." Eliza smiled.

"My personal favorite." Hannibal informed, retreating to the kitchen once again.

Eliza took a deep breath while she could, fearful that once the wine graced the table, she would be tempted to down the entire glass out of sheer nerves. She had no inkling as to why Hannibal had invited her to dinner, and she was beginning to fear, that she no longer cared. Eliza had always been selective socializing with the opposite sex, more-so after Ike Ryan had violated her. Yet here she sat, in Hannibal Lecter's estate, for an unknown reason, feeling oddly content.

Hannibal returned with the wine and they ate in silence for some time. Eliza complimented Hannibal's cooking, specifically the pasta sauce and a secret smile embezzled Hannibal's mouth. Unknown to her, Hannibal had added a dash of O negative - the same blood type as Ike Ryan.

"Do you wish to treat me Dr. Lecter?" Eliza finally asked.

A pang of disappointment resigned with Hannibal that she had reverted to using his surname, but played along. "I believe a professional relationship – that of treatment - would be mutually beneficial Ms. Braden. You do not spend much time putting yourself into consideration. A reclusive way of living is an unhealthy way of being."

"You mentioned mutuality, but you've never spoken as to how I'm to aid you." Eliza pointed out, twirling her fork thoughtfully.

"I require a therapist capable of comradeship, one who would not be opposed to such affection being returned." Hannibal explained with a coy smile. "If it pleases you, I will keep no record of you as a patient."

"...Do you expect me to do the same?" Eliza asked.

"No. I feel no shame in seeking council." Hannibal answered. Eliza's face, usually an open book, had sealed itself behind a cover of indifference. For the first time since making her acquaintance, Hannibal could not read her. "What are you thinking?" he pressed.

"I am unsure what to think...but I can say with certainty that you are a man with an agenda...though I cannot fathom what. I imagine that's best."

"Perhaps someday we may fully confide in each other."

The meals were partially devoured, the wine glasses half empty and an uncanny cloud of tension emitted above them. Eliza's guard had been re-enforced, a wondrous blockade that Hannibal deemed would be easily destroyed with the right amount of sexual innuendo subconsciously applied.

"How many sessions do you foresee us having?" Eliza questioned.

Hannibal smiled. "That is entirely up to you...how do you normally schedule your patients?"

"Depends on the urgency of treatment. Usually every two weeks, but in special circumstances, I have counseled once a week."

"Do you consider our engagement a special circumstance?"

"...Yes..." Eliza said softly.

"As do I. Excessive interaction could likely result in an expedited recovery." Hannibal replied.

"Recovery?" Eliza echoed with a raised brow.

Hannibal took a precarious sip of wine before responding. "Ignoring an infection does not prevent it from festering, it must be tendered to in order to heal. You've never been treated Eliza, therefore you have never recovered."

"What about your recovery?"

"My recovery is tethered to yours, much as a wounded solider relies on his brothers-in-arms to cart him off to safety."

Eliza stared at her plate, stricken with waves of sauce and a stranded noodle. Her hazel eyes reverted to Hannibal after a moment of contemplation. "So therapy is my weapon against Ike Ryan?" she asked, recalling what Hannibal had said during their first encounter.

"Did you have a different solution in mind?" Hannibal responded curiously. Eliza shook her head, then shrugged in a sated fashion. "Many times when a rapist is set free, the victim will invest in a gun. Ike Ryan will be freed at the end of the month, yet you have not purchased any defense against him. You are in no need of one. Make no mistake Eliza, you are not a damsel in distress."

"I didn't have you figured for a knight in shinning armor Hannibal." Eliza retorted, finishing the last of her wine. Hannibal watched with great intensity, as the liquid passed through her bow-shaped lips. Hannibal imagined the wine cascading down her throat and felt a rise within him. Generally speaking, he didn't ingest the esophagus often, but Hannibal was beginning to wonder, if he would not make an exception for Eliza, if need be. Her words drew Hannibal away from his thoughts. "I really must be going now. Thank you for dinner." Eliza was saying.

"You're most welcome Eliza. When should I expect to see you at my office?" Hannibal asked, rising from his chair the same instant that she did from hers.

Though she hated herself for doing so, Eliza smiled. "The therapists usually suggest the date, Dr. Lecter." she teased, carrying her plate and glass into the kitchen with Hannibal at her heels.

"Very well. Shall we say Thursday at four?" Hannibal prompted, as their dishware was set aside on the counter.

"Is there a particular day of the week I should pencil you in for?" Eliza asked, keeping her gaze free of Hannibal's as he escorted her to the front door.

"Whichever day you would feel most comfortable seeing me. Though keep in mind, I still am a consultant for the FBI. Cancellations may be inevitable." Hannibal replied.

"I understand. Have a good evening Hannibal."

"You as well Eliza."

It was abundantly clear to both Hannibal and Eliza that something inevitable indeed was on the horizon, though neither could name with absolute certainty what that inevitability could be.


End file.
